A Festering Easter

I had a bad day. 

For starters, I hate seeing my church go through the charade of Christmas and Easter services. They don't mean to put on a show for the huge crowd that only shows up when they feel the obligation, but everyone is so totally on edge, nevertheless. The music was nervous and off, trying not to frighten the old ladies with our usual volume and power, trying not to bore the young overdressed crowd, trying not to intimidate the forced-into-it people with complicated lyrics they're expected to know. My family had to sit a few rows farther back than we usually do, which, you know, is fine, except that my godmother-figure and friends are supposed to be within arms-length, and I couldn't even see them. My family travels at all times in groups no smaller than seven, so I normally get to avoid weird contact with overly friendly strangers, but alas, I sat next to a woman I barely know, who promptly whored out her tuxedo-clad toddler grandson for attention. And there was no acolyte. My absolute favorite part of church are the acolytes.

Every service, a different third-grader walks down the aisle during the first song, carrying one of those long poles with the candle at the end of it (Do those have names?), taking slow, careful steps, like they're in a wedding procession. The kid always watches the tiny flame intently, as if one false move could bring the whole church down in a firey peril. They light the two candles on the altar (although in my church, it's more like an open stage), extinguish the Stick, and return back the way they came, looking around for recognition. Their own little curtain call. I love acolytes. I was one, and I remember how it felt. You were special, and you had a part in something special. God was real and magic and you were the personification of blind, cheerful faith needed in the sick world of adults who, for some unknown reason, didn't have light in their eyes anymore. I don't know. I guess I feel like one of the lifeless adults now, and I need the Little Haylies to keep me going.

I didn't even listen to the sermon today, which is really weird for me. Instead, I sat and thought about my friends' engagement party that I may or may not attend next weekend in New York, and how, despite how much I want to go... I don't want to go at all. I can't even begin to explain why. I have the money. The friends I rarely get to see will be there, loving me, missing me. But at the same time, it just makes me want to go to sleep.

After church, I went to my grandparents' house, like most Sundays. My mom comes from a family of four very dramatic women and one exhausted alcoholic father. At the current time, my two aunts aren't speaking to each other. For no known reason. It made seating arrangements at brunch unnecessarily awkward. I sat next to my mother, so she could place her hand on my knee and shake her head every time she knew I'd be tempted to swear loudly or make a sassy comment about the conversation. One of my aunts made sure to say, "Hayley, you're almost becoming like a girl!" when my sister showed off the pictures of my prom dress. The other aunt made sure not to say anything to anybody. My grandfather slurred, "Ya sure you need all that pie?" while nudging me in the stomach. I therefore ate about five pieces of pie. My mother spoke a lot about my senior pictures and graduation party, my oldest sister pulling out her planner and yapping about all her planned appearances at all my planned appearances. To be difficult, I made sure everyone knew my intentions to run away and not walk my graduation ceremony. Grandma told me I have to go through all the crap to appease her, and then gave me some shoes.

When I got home, I talked to a friend, Sebastian, on the phone for a few minutes and fell asleep mid-conversation. I slept for two hours. My mom told me that he came by to see me and that she couldn't wake me as hard as she tried. I missed my sister leaving to go back to school. She was wearing my only pair of stud earrings. I got in the bathtub with the intention of quickly shaving my nasty legs for the first time in forever (Sure you wanted to hear that, right?), but somehow ended up reading the entirety of Let It Snow, cover to cover.

I have to write a paper tomorrow for AP English. I don't have a clue what the prompt is. I haven't made much of an effort to do any of my schoolwork this grading period. It's the last one. They can't honestly expect anything of us, and I have a 3.8. I'm safe.

Sexy: Asian men. Maybe it's the inherent nerdiness that America associates with them. I realize this is much like saying "all American girls are rude and slutty" or "all American boys wear letterman jackets," but I'm going to pretend this one stereotype is accurate, just to feed my fantasies.

Unsexy: Wearing a high-hoisted backpack that makes you lean forward and creates a turtle-like shadow.

Weight: 10,304

Chipotle burritos this year: 11

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Days left of high school: 30